Marzios Crucifix and Zoroaster | Page 6

things are harder
than a good acanthus leaf."
"I should think women could do the delicate part of our work very
well," said the apprentice, returning to the subject from which Marzio
was evidently trying to lead him. "Lucia has such very clever fingers."
"Idiot!" muttered Marzio between his teeth, not deigning to make any
further answer.
The distant boom of a gun broke upon the silence that followed, and
immediately the bells of all the neighbouring churches rang out in
quick succession. It was midday.
"I did not expect to finish that nose," said Marzio, rising from his stool.
He was a punctual man, who exacted punctuality in others, and in spite
of his thin frame and nervous ways, he loved his dinner. In five minutes
all the men had left the workshop, and Marzio and his apprentice stood
in the street, the former locking the heavy door with a lettered padlock,
while the younger man sniffed the fresh spring air that blew from the
west out of the square of San Carlo a Catenari down the Via dei
Falegnami in which the establishment of the silver-chiseller was
situated.
As Marzio fumbled with the fastenings of the door, two women came
up and stopped. Marzio had his back turned, and Gianbattista touched
his hat in silence. The younger of the two was a stout, black-haired
woman of eight-and-thirty years, dressed in a costume of dark green
cloth, which fitted very closely to her exuberantly-developed bust, and
was somewhat too elaborately trimmed with imitation of jet and black
ribands. A high bonnet, decorated with a bunch of purple glass grapes
and dark green leaves, surmounted the lady's massive head, and though

carefully put on and neatly tied, seemed too small for the wearer. Her
ears were adorned by long gold earrings, in each of which were three
large garnets, and these trinkets dangled outside and over the riband of
the bonnet, which passed under her chin. In her large hands, covered
with tight black gloves, she carried a dark red parasol and a somewhat
shabby little black leather bag with steel fastenings. The stout lady's
face was of the type common among the Roman women of the lower
class--very broad and heavy, of a creamy white complexion, the upper
lip shaded by a dark fringe of down, and the deep sleepy eyes
surmounted by heavy straight eyebrows. Her hair, brought forward
from under her bonnet, made smooth waves upon her low forehead and
reappeared in thick coils at the back of her neck. Her nose was
relatively small, but too thick and broad at the nostrils, although it
departed but little from the straight line of the classic model. Altogether
the Signora Pandolfi, christened Maria Luisa, and wife to Marzio the
silver-chiseller, was a portly and pompous-looking person, who wore
an air of knowing her position, and of being sure to maintain it.
Nevertheless, there was a kindly expression in her fat face, and if her
eyes looked sleepy they did not look dishonest.
Signora Pandolfi's companion was her old maid-of-all-work, Assunta,
commonly called Suntarella, without whom she rarely stirred abroad--a
little old woman, in neat but dingy-coloured garments, with a grey
woollen shawl drawn over her head like a cowl, instead of a bonnet.
Marzio finished fastening the door, and then turned round. On seeing
his wife he remained silent for a moment, looking at her with an
expression of dissatisfied inquiry. He had not expected her.
"Well?" he ejaculated at last.
"It is dinner time," remarked the stout lady.
"Yes, I heard the gun," answered Marzio drily. "It is the same as if you
had told me," he added ironically, as he turned and led the way across
the street.
"A pretty answer!" exclaimed Maria Luisa, tossing her large head as

she followed her lord and master to the door of their house. Meanwhile
Assunta, the old servant, glanced at Gianbattista, rolled up her eyes
with an air of resignation, and spread out her withered hands for a
moment with a gesture of despair, instantly drawing them in again
beneath the folds of her grey woollen shawl.
"Gadding!" muttered Marzio, as he entered the narrow door from which
the dark steps led abruptly upwards. "Gadding--always gadding! And
who minds the soup-kettle when you are gadding, I should like to know?
The cat, I suppose! Oh, these women and their priests! These priests
and these women!"
"Lucia is minding the soup-kettle," gasped Maria Luisa, as she puffed
up stairs behind her thin and active husband.
"Lucia!" cried Marzio angrily, a flight of steps higher. "I suppose you
will bring her up to be woman of all work? Well, she could earn her
living then, which is more than you do! After all, it is better to mind a
soup-kettle than to